


Castiel's Little Lie

by cumberbabeswillrise



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-20
Updated: 2013-09-20
Packaged: 2017-12-27 03:44:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/973915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cumberbabeswillrise/pseuds/cumberbabeswillrise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas Lied to Dean, but is it really that bad? Cute Destiel. Sorry I am horrible with descriptions. Also, I'm going to re-edit this soon it was a prompt from an Anon on Tumblr for a creative writing essay!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Castiel's Little Lie

Dean quietly clicked open the lock of his motel room, careful not to wake Sammy. The poor kid had been spewing his guts all over the motel bathroom for hours. He had not been sick like this since they were kids, and Dean had had to take care of him for two weeks until he got better.

When he stepped inside he easily noticed Sam's hulking figure on the bed, breathing heavily under the covers. Cas was sitting on the edge of his own bed, head in his hands. He looked conflicted, his jaw set in that way he always got when he was thinking long and hard about something.

Dean set the fast food bag on the table and sat down carefully next to Castiel. The ex-angel did not look at Dean, just inched away a little so Dean could sit more comfortably on the bed.

“Something wrong, Cas?” Dean gave Cas a smile, which disappeared as soon as Cas laid his somber eyes upon Dean's.

“Well, something definitely is not right.” Cas looked at him, clearly desperate to tell Dean what was wrong. “I did something bad, Dean.” Castiel's voice sounded almost child-like, even with his gruff monotone.

“I'm sure it can't be that bad, Cas. None of us are dead yet.” He smiled again, but Cas merely shook his head.

“You don't understand. Sam is supposed to be dead!” Castiel shook his head more forcefully. “He should not be here, Dean. I changed his fate and now he's going to die the way he was supposed to. He will just get si-”

“Hey. Hey, hey. Calm down, Cas,” Dean took the new human's head in his own hands. “All three of us have died about ten times, and we always come back. Sam will be fine. The moose can handle the flu.”

“It is not as simple as that, Dean. I prevented him from dying and now he's going to die the way he was supposed to die. I caused this!” Cas groaned as he shook his head. The ex-angel had been having problems keeping his new human emotions in check, and now, as his head hung and his shoulders shook, Cas seemed like he was about to cry.

Dean put reassuring hands around Castiel's shoulders. “Come on, man. You saved Sammy's life, that's good. When did this happen?”

“Years ago now. You were just children.”

“You knew us when we were kids? I don't remember seeing any angel freaks until my thirties.” Dean winked at Cas, who finally gave in to a small smile.

“Your senior year in high school. Your father had left for two weeks and Sam was sick. He was puking up blood but you could not go and see a doctor. You almost... you almost sold your soul.” Cas screwed his eyes tight and put his head in his hands.

“I remember that, Sam just magically got better. You did that? I don't remember seeing you at all.” Dean scratched his chin, trying to recall the memory.

“In the alternate world where I do not ever go back and save Sam, you are a cold, calculating man. You are dead inside, Dean. A horrifying person to be around. You were still... you. Just not you. I've no clue how to explain it. You missed your brother more than anything, Dean. I had to go back and save Sam. You were going to kill yourself.”

 

 

Dean quietly unlocked the door to the motel room. He did not want to wake Sammy. The poor kid had been puking his guts all over the motel bathroom. Dad was no where to be seen, or heard from. John Winchester had already been gone for three days, even though he had known that Sammy was sick.

“The job is more important right now, Dean. That ghoul is killing people.” Without another word, John Winchester stepped inside his 67 Chevy Impala and had not, so far, come back.

At the moment, Dean did not care if John came back. He was never there anyway. Once Dean was old enough to leave, he would take Sammy and go. Even though he was only thirteen, Sam was a damn good hunter. Everything he did was amazing. He and Dean could handle themselves, they would be fine.

“Dean?” Sam weakly called from the bathroom, his voice hoarse and feeble.

“Yeah, kid. I'm here.” Dean moved to the five by seven bathroom, standing just outside to give Sam's lanky frame some room. He handed Sam a bottle of Pepto. “Hope this helps. It's the only thing the pharmacist lady would give me, besides her number.” Dean winked and chuckled at his little brother, who was crouched around the toilet, long hair pulled back by a leather strap.

“Nice to know your thoughts were focused on me, Dean.” Sam took a swig of the Pepto, gagged, then deposited his stomach contents into the toilet.

“You don't eat enough vegetables, I can tell by your vomit,” Dean joked, then dodged a weak swing from Sam.

Over the next two days Sam steadily got worse. He lost twelve pounds and his hair had begun falling out. He shivered even though the furnace was on eighty and he refused to eat.

Dean had bags under his eyes from lack of sleep, and Sam had his own from stress. Dean watched his baby brother while he slept, to make sure that he'd be ready if Sammy needed him. Dean had tried to call Dad, fifteen times so far, with no luck. The old man had turned off his cell phone, and left Dean to listen to the same message over and over again.

“You've reached John Winchester, I can't come to the phone right now. I'm most likely tied up with a case, but you can call my son Dean at 555-544-0363.” Dean had long since thrown the phone at the wall, thankful that it hadn't crumbled into a million pieces.

By the end of the week, Dean ran out of ideas. He looked up symptoms and had found nothing. Sam only looked like he weighed twenty pounds. Sam struggled to breathe and would be panting after sitting up in bed. Sam was going to die. Dean could feel it.

Dean found himself at a crossroads, box of items in one hand, beer in the other. He carefully went down on one knee and buried the box, summoning the crossroad demon, then sat and waited.

She made him wait. For about ten minutes, then when Dean was about to give up, he heard a whisper in his ear.

“Hey, darlin',” she smiled at him, then flashed her eyes. Her sockets were nothing but red, blood red, “I'm buying and you're selling.”

Her long black hair trailed down to her back, the long black evening gown almost the same color. “Something's wrong with widdle Sammy wammy,” she pouted her lips and smiled at Dean.

“He's going to die,” Dean glowered at her.

“Yes. He is.” She gave him a genuinely sad look and tilted her head to the side, “You're only seventeen, Dean-o. You shouldn't have to deal with this. Are you sure you don't just want me to get rid of Daddy?”

“I want you to make Sam better,” he stated.

She rolled her eyes and stepped closer to him. Dean caught a whiff of her perfume, hazelnuts. “Sweetie, he's already dead.”

Dean staggered back a little. He'd only been gone an hour. “You're lying.”

“But I'm not. He died about two minutes ago. Now, I can bring him back... but that's going to cost you.” She circled him like prey, her hands wandering and pinching him all over.

“Tell me what I have to do and I'll do it.” Dean was getting impatient now. He just wanted Sammy to be better: to be okay.

“I bring baby Sammy back and in exchange you give me your soul. You'll rot in Hell, but Sammy will live a nice long happy life.”

“How long do I get?” Dean glared at the demon woman. She was hauntingly beautiful, and he sure wouldn't ever forget her face.

“Ten years. Then, Hell Hounds will drag you down to Hell where Alistair can do what he pleases with your torn and damaged soul.” She smiled, toying him.

Dean thought about her proposition. Ten years of life with Sammy, saving people, hunting things, the family business. Then, eternity in Hell, being tortured day in and day out until he gave in and did the torturing. In a thousand years he'd most likely be a crossroads demon, like her.

“You shouldn't do that, you know.” Dean whipped around to face a young man, blond hair whipping in the wind, “Believe me, Hell isn't much of a vacation spot. I would not advise you to go there for eternity, no less.”

Dean just stared at the man, he was not normal, Dean could tell. The man held himself in such a way that Dean, with his experience fighting monsters, could tell that he was not human.

“Come, I will bring you to your brother. He will be fine once you arrive,” the blonde man held out his hand to Dean, beckoning him toward him.

The demon glared at the man, her red eyes glowing in the darkness. She looked feral, like she would attack him, but she most likely was not strong enough. Dean took the man's hand. He made the mistake of blinking, for at that moment, they were at the motel again.

“Dean Winchester, I will tell you this once, and only once. Do not sell your soul for Sam ever again. It will have terrible consequences for you.”

“What the Hell are you?” Dean whispered in awe.

The man smiled, “An old friend. I'll see you someday, Dean Winchester.” Dean blinked again, and the man was gone.

Hearing a small groan from the bathroom, Dean rushed over to find Sam sitting on the floor. He smiled at Dean.

“I threw up again and now I feel great, Dean. I feel much better,” Dean sighed in relief and gave a nervous chuckle. He hugged Sammy tight, thankful for the strange man.

 

 

Cas groaned. “When I came back and saved Sam, I had a different vessel. In the world where I do not save him, I do not have Jimmy Novak as my vessel. Just before you sold your soul I grabbed you and brought you back to Sam. When I had my powers, I healed him. And now, he's going to die.”

Dean put a hand over Castiel. “Why did you do it, Cas?”

“Because, in a world where Sam dies, you were miserable. I just wanted to see you happy, Dean. You always went on about Sam, and what he'd love to do and how well he'd do it. I wanted you to be happy again.” Cas looked away from Dean, refusing to look him in the eyes.

Dean hugged his fallen angel. “Castiel, you saved my brother and you saved me. What you did was good. This isn't even the same sickness Sam had when he was thirteen. It's just the flu. I got him some antibiotics, he'll be fine in no time. I promise.”

“If I was still an angel I could heal him,” Cas whispered, looking at his once all-healing hands.

“If you were still and angel, you wouldn't be here. They would have you in Heaven and I would never get to see you, Cas. You wouldn't be down here, living with us, fighting the good fight.” Dean kissed his partner's lips. “I'm glad you're human, my human. And Sam is too. He loves you too.”

Cas sighed, then rested his head on Dean's shoulder. “I love you guys, too.”

Sam got up the next morning, feeling healthier than a horse, and Dean decided not to tell him about Castiel's little lie. It was better not to make him worry. He was just happy that he had his baby brother and his life partner. Everyone was just as they should be, together and well.


End file.
